Only a Door

Four years ago, when I decided to attend Harvard, my friends and relatives fully supported my choice. Smiles and nods and encouraging remarks abounded, the most common of which was, "A degree from Harvard is sure to open lots of doors for you."

I would always agree to that, but was never really sure of the nature of my assent, or, for that matter, of the nature of my ascent. For whenever I would mention the word "Harvard" in association with my name, the air of reverence I was being treated with would rise accordingly, and some-what disturbingly.

This is an old theme, but it returns us to the question of "doors." What exactly were the doors that were being opened for me then, and what are they now? No one wins an abstract position of power or glory on the strength of his or her Harvard diploma. One must have specific goals and aspirations; certain sets of dreams--law, business, medicine--are more in keeping with the Harvard name than others. Lofty professions take to lofty pedigrees. Even if we don't take the lofty road professionally, we can rest assured that our hard work these four years will win us a certain measure of respect from the surrounding world, but man cannot live by respect alone, but neither can woman.

Regardless of respect, a Harvard diploma can only do so much in coaxing the right people to crack the right doors ajar. The whole game of it all reminds me of those large, long hallways from the dream sequences of a movie, labyrinthine but somehow also very simple at the same time. There are lots of opened doors, but the views inside are blurry, and the view back out may be non-existent. Just as we may find it hard to remember our lives before Harvard, after we enter the working world it may be hard to recall a time when we weren't working.

Do we enter an open passageway or do we grasp the knob of our own door to shove our way in? A Harvard degree comes with lofty expectations, and to fall short of these expectations is equivalent to failure for many. But to saunter through the door wide open, if such a way existed--would that be to succeed?

I've always been amazed at Harvard's incredibly high yield, which hovers around 75 percent each year. This year will certainly be no exception. With pre-frosh descending upon the campus this weekend, take a moment to reflect on your own college decision. Were you motivated more by the fear of what you would miss out on by turning down one of the top schools in the country, or by the thrill of benefiting from the specific resources that Harvard has to offer?

Hopefully, for the Class of 2002, the thrill of Harvard is more prevalent than the fear of not-Harvard. But even if the fear of a closed door is more of a catalyst than the thrill of an open door, a door is a door is a door. Perhaps through the benefit of her Radcliffe education, Adrienne Rich '51 came to understand this very well.

Written in 1962, her poem "Prospective Immigrants Please Note," applied in its historical moment most immediately to the civil rights movement and the women's right movement. For our purposes here, it also applies to the questions of intellectual elitism and upward social mobility--two doors facing potential incoming freshmen this April just as squarely as they are facing graduating seniors. For you who stand in front of such decisions:

"Either you will go through this door or you will not go through. If you go through there is always the risk of remembering your name. Things look at you doubly and you must look back and let them happen. If you do not go through it is possible to live worthily to maintain your attitudes to hold your position to die bravely but much will blind you, much will evade you, at what cost who knows? The door itself makes no promises. It is only a door."

This poem should be hand screened on the covers of those glaringly blank, red pre-frosh folders. It is a valuable lesson for those at any transitional stage, in front of any door: Whether you go through or do not go through, know that the risks, the double-vision, the possibilities, the deterrents and the costs will be there nonetheless. They are the things to deal with. The door is only a detail.

Jim Cocola '98, a history and literature concentrator, lives in Winthrop House. His column appears on alternate Mondays.